She probably thinks this is ridiculous,Sloane thought, though she couldn’t help the flicker of hope that refused to be extinguished.Too messy, too loud. But then again, maybe she’s curious enough to come anyway.
The thought tugged at something deep inside her, a challenge, a dare. Catherine had been a locked door at the gala, every word measured, every glance distant. But there had been amoment, fleeting but unmistakable, when Sloane thought she’d seen something deeper.
She turned back to her guests, pasting on a smile as a patron complimented one of her sculptures. But the door remained in her peripheral vision, her pulse quickening every time it opened.
Sloane weaved through the crowd, her laughter and lighthearted quips punctuating the steady hum of conversation. She paused here and there, greeting guests, explaining her work, or simply sharing a joke that left people smiling as she moved on. But her rhythm faltered every few moments as her eyes flicked to the entrance.
“Alright, Bennett,” Dani said, sidling up to her with a glass of wine in one hand and a sly grin on her face. “You’ve looked at that door ten times in the last five minutes. She’s either late or you’ve got a very specific ghost haunting you.”
Sloane rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “I’m just checking. For atmosphere.”
“Uh-huh,” Dani drawled, taking a sip of her wine. “Atmosphere with ice-blue eyes and a death glare.”
Sloane sighed dramatically. “Can’t a girl have a little hope without getting interrogated?”
Dani smirked. “Not when the girl is you, and the hope looks like it’s tied to someone who’d rather walk barefoot through a surgical theater than hang out here.”
“Your faith in me is truly inspiring,” Sloane said, placing a hand over her heart in mock offense.
“Oh, I have faith,” Dani replied. “Just not in her showing up.”
Sloane shook her head, grabbing a fresh glass of wine from a passing tray. “She’ll come. Maybe.”
Dani arched an eyebrow. “You sound very confident.”
“Who could resist my charm?” Sloane grinned, though her fingers tightened slightly on the stem of her glass.
“Plenty of people,” Dani said dryly. “But hey, if anyone can melt an ice queen, it’s you.”
Dani left to wrangle a group of art critics who looked like they’d wandered in by accident, giving Sloane space to do what she did best: connect.
She approached a middle-aged couple admiring one of her abstract pieces. The painting was a whirlwind of colors, violet and crimson clashing against streaks of gold and black.
“This one’s amazing,” the woman said, her hand hovering near the canvas as if afraid to touch it.
“Thank you,” Sloane said, stepping into their view. Her smile was warm and inviting. “It’s one of my favorites, actually. I call it ‘Collision.’”
“Collision?” the man asked, tilting his head.
“It’s about how the best things in life come from chaos,” Sloane explained, her tone playful. “Or, you know, what happens when you spill wine on a canvas and decide to run with it.”
The couple laughed, and Sloane joined in, the tension in her chest easing slightly.
She moved on to another cluster of guests, this time a trio of younger artists who were deep in conversation about one of her sculptures. The piece was a twisting mass of metal and glass, jagged edges softened by smooth curves.
“Trying to figure out what it means?” Sloane asked, leaning against the wall beside them.
The trio turned to her, startled but curious.
“Yeah,” one of them said. “It feels…angry, but not in a bad way. Like it’s trying to push through something.”
Sloane nodded thoughtfully. “I like that interpretation. For me, it was about resilience. How even the sharpest edges can reflect light if you shift your perspective.”
The young woman’s eyes lit up. “That’s beautiful.”
Sloane shrugged, a grin tugging at her lips. “Or maybe I just had a lot of scrap metal lying around and decided to make something shiny.”
Laughter rippled through the group, and Sloane’s grin widened. She thrived on these moments, the way art could spark connection and conversation, even if the interpretations were as unruly as her process.
